


Lovers and Thieves

by Fudgyokra



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Drunk Sex, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: It just so happened that time passed faster when they were together.





	Lovers and Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was drunk and, well, my love for James Gordon becomes increasingly obvious as this goes on. I edited it but not well. I’m sick of looking at it, though, lmao.

It was entirely by accident that they started this affair. It began with the barest touches—on the hand, on the shoulder, on the waist—like friends would do, nothing more. How it led up to where they were now was “up to interpretation,” as Bruce liked to say.

Regardless of how it happened, soon enough the innocent touches became more, beginning with stolen kisses (on the cheek, of course) in the GCPD commons and ending, typically, with Jim’s back against the doorjamb, coffee still hot in one hand, while Bruce rubbed intimate circles into the man’s hips with his thumbs and gazed up at him with eyes alight.

They’d both been through plenty in their time. The years spent in misery and in hard labor were enough to bring them together, yet neither of them saw it coming when the moment of truth arrived.

It just so happened that time passed faster when they were together, so their first shared night in Wayne Manor was planned with simple intentions in mind: To stay awake mapping plans over the usual discourse that struck them in the daytime. What was __not__  planned was Bruce’s offer to part with some of his expensive wine collection, and, by the next hour, the night had morphed into amicable, too-loud chatting over empty glasses. They talked about the Batman—who they thought he was, what they liked about him and what they didn’t, which seemed to be very little, for Jim’s part.

The older man’s fingertips grazing against Bruce’s arm was all it took for it to head in a different direction, though, and the duties of their usual lives were abandoned in a single tic of the nearby grandfather clock.

First, it was only flesh on flesh on top of cotton sheets, rendering the night warmer and more inviting than any cold Gotham patrol ever could be. Head fuzzy, Bruce might have latched onto Jim’s mouth a little quicker, a little hungrier than he’d meant to, and that was when the façade of platonic friendship shattered.

“Do you want to—” Jim mumbled something vaguely intelligible, eyes drifting up to meet Bruce’s.

Though pulling him into another kiss wasn’t exactly an answer, Jim seemed to get the message.

It was hard for Bruce to concentrate with Gordon’s mouth on his, hot and wet and everything he’d imagined this should’ve been like with Selina, or some other girl he might have met in the club scene. This was different in a variety of ways, of course; it wasn’t an obligation or a front being asked of Mister Wayne this time, but an honest pleasure.

It was strange, at first, to have this man a decade older than he beckoning on his bedroom floor, drunker than he was if that were even possible. The initial kiss he’d orchestrated might have been messy and flavored like wine and tobacco, but it was single-handedly the way to Bruce’s undoing.

When the clock struck midnight, he was lost in his own little world. This time, instead of his usual way of dealing with things, he was experiencing life as the man he was supposed to be underneath the mask.

Skin felt hotter when he was drunk. The way the older man’s hands on his thighs felt like paradise, like a fire had been struck somewhere deep inside him, was practically electric. The handful of women he’d been with before were a distraction from his usual life, but __this__  was something better. Gordon took him like he knew just how to: a far cry from the usual dinner table flirtations that Bruce tended to endure.

It wasn’t so much a lack of experience as it was a lack of truthfulness with himself. It had taken him years to come to this point, where he realized a few inches in just the right spot meant more to him than any of those snobby elitist women ever could. When he finally admitted to himself that he’d only dated for the media’s (and Alfred’s) sake, that paved the way to further instances of self-discovery, like the one he was having now.

Before he could think better of it, he was yanking on short hair, losing himself in the way Jim’s mustache prickled his upper lip, then his chest, then his thighs, then somewhere __better__ , something he’d never thought would feel good but had come to find was a perfectly fine sensation. It was almost like nothing else mattered.

His voice was just the right kind of husky, his body the masculine presence Bruce had only recently realized he craved, looking even better now flooded in dim bedroom light, illuminating tan, freckled and taut skin with those muscles moving lithely underneath. It seemed so __right,__ even in his drunken stupor.

It was Gordon’s way of knowing just how he wanted it that got him thinking perhaps it was more than he could handle. The man’s nails pressed crescent shapes into his shoulders. His mouth was hot at his throat.

Bruce had started in Jim’s lap and ended up beneath him some time later, feeling like he __belonged__  underneath the weight of him. This was a discipline he desired; a domination he’d always dreamed of. Hips and thighs were rocking, harder than he would have thought comfortable and yet perfect the way they matched up.

He’d do anything for him, if Gordon asked.

The way he took control and took the stress off Bruce’s muscles was enough to switch his mind off for a night. True, he had always considered himself on top of things, but this amount of authority lorded over him was a welcome breather, to his surprise. If he could let go for tonight, it would be exactly what the doctor ordered. He didn’t think he would’ve had this much __fun__ , or he might have done it much, much sooner.

As Bruce had come to learn, Gordon knew what he was doing. It was apparent in the way his tongue swirled around his length like he’d done it a million times before, and in the way his eyes regarded him like a lover he’d always wanted. He drove into him in a way he’d never experienced before and touched him in places he thought he could never be touched. It was new but inviting, and it felt so good he could barely breathe.

Jim’s hair felt like it belonged between his fingers, grasped onto like a vice and twisted around his digits like thread. The man’s skin was scarred all over, much like Bruce’s own. It had bullet holes and knife wounds embedded deep, but was, nonetheless, a pleasure to run his hands over. On hot fingertips that clawed, desperately gripping, it was smooth and much-needed.

Bruce could hardly take the heat. His mind was enveloped in want. He felt full and complacent, at home in his bed, with a human-sized weight on top of him and music ringing in the background, forgotten between the pants and sighs they gave as they advanced in their relationship. Perhaps he would regret this when he was sober, but something in the back of his mind doubted this.

__He’d always wanted this._ _

God _ _,__ the way Jim moved. Hipbones crashing into his own, hard and __perfect__ like he needed it just as badly as Bruce did. It was hard to contain moans beneath this ministration, with all attention focused on the way he cocked his hips and bowed under the pressure, uncontrollably hot and bothered. This was more than he was used to. If anything, it was better than any woman he’d ever had.

It was with crowded lungs that he came, shuddering and abandoned. He felt as though he’d been rebirthed into a skin too deserving of this, new each time Gordon’s fingers grazed him. It was all shock and tremors with every stroke, too perfect and yet not enough each time.

He was there at the edge of perfection, riding on waves of comfort and bliss. His eyes rolled like dice, mouth open in a silent ‘o’ that Gordon captured with expertise, swallowing his groans as a way of taking charge—something he was used to in his rightful position as GCPD chief.

Jim was by no means his first lover, but, dammit, Bruce thought he should have been the last.

The former’s impassioned grunts hit the air with a kind of want that admitted exactly how he felt in Bruce’s body: __God-like.__

The aching in Bruce’s knees when he flipped over was ignored, past the pressure in his groin from the movement behind him, hitting in a spot just so right that he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but here, being taken over by this authority figure like some sort of raunchy daydream.

Gordon drove into him like it didn’t matter what happened at the end. There were hands kneading his skin and curling into sheets on either side of him, and the only thing he could think was to pray for it to last as long as possible.

The bass of the music thumped in his ears, but not harder than the heartbeat in his ears. His pulse skyrocketed underneath Gordon’s affections. His cock was being pumped in time to the man’s rhythm, hips bucking into him like he was an animal that needed release. It occurred to him, then, that felt like he couldn’t live without this.

His fingertips were going numb with the pleasure, where his brain melted and only left his voice, vocalizing everything he’d ever wanted in secret, in his dreams. “God, Jim, please.” He was begging now, thrusting his hips back against the other’s.

Jim could do him any way he wanted, and Bruce would have been satisfied. “Bite me,” he said, demanding it with such fervor than he had to be indulged.

“You sure know how to boss a guy around,” Jim said with a chuckle.

“I know what I’m here for,” Bruce answered, eyes half-lidded.

The thoughts wouldn’t stop rattling around in his brain. __Someday I’m gonna think of this and wonder why you didn’t fuck me harder, like it mattered.__

Jim had positioned him onto his back again and was now dragging his teeth across Bruce’s throat, so close to the vein and yet careful not to injure. Lips pressed just underneath his ear, touching gently where they could have bitten and torn.

“You’re warm,” Jim slurred, rocking his hips forward in a way that took the breath right out of Bruce’s mouth.

“Have you thought about doing this before?” Bruce asked.

“More than I’d like to admit,” Gordon said.

“I always assumed it didn’t matter who you slept with as long as you were doing it,” Brue said, screwing his eyes closed.

“It does,” Gordon answered, eyes earnest, “I wanted this more than I wanted my last wife.” A pause, a laugh. “I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

Bruce felt like he was floating on wings of silk. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gordon admitted, fucking him until his voice was hoarse and his eyes were screwed closed from the impact of hipbones on hipbones, cock buried in him in a way that made him want to yell to high heavens. If this knot in his stomach didn’t burst soon, he thought he might cry.

Bruce had always heard that sex was the greatest escape from oneself, but whoever said that was wrong. In fact, it was the greatest way to become one’s truest self, enamored with the possibilities and surrounded by blurs of red hair, smiling lips, tan skin.

Something in him screamed for mercy. It almost hurt, how much he needed release. “I love you,” he said, tossing his head back against the pillows desperately. His hair was splayed out beneath him, black against white, “Jim, __Jim__.”

“Shit,” the man in question cursed, leaning their foreheads together. “God, I love you,” he breathed.

Like a doll, Bruce blinked in complacency, keening and wanting and unable to control his muscles. “I want you,” he admitted, reaching into the darkest parts of himself.

He came across both of their chests. The way he felt then, so human and raw, felt like something deeper than he’d ever experienced. “Keep going,” he demanded, needy and lustful. “Harder. Like you were punishing me.”

Gordon flushed a bright red. “God, Bruce, I don’t know…”

“I want you to,” the younger man assured, using his coy personality in a way that meant Gordon couldn’t say no.

It could have been picturesque: On the beach, in the evening, air scattered with neon fireworks. But no, it was just another night in the dark, but better, with musky air, sweat and skin and teeth.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Bruce said, glancing up into his eyes.

“Don’t say that,” Gordon mumbled, screwing his eyes closed and forcing himself deeper. “You’re too good for me.”

“I don’t think so,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “ _ _Ah__ … I think we fit so well. I think you’re everything I’ve ever been looking for.” He didn’t mean to unveil his deepest secret, but it just came out: “I want you to know something,” he admitted. “I’ve been hiding something from you. I know things about the Batman.

Gordon stilled.  “Things like what?”

Bruce looked at him with eyes electric, pupils wide. “That we’re the same person.”

Jim’s breath caught like a lump in his throat. Before he could even think of a way to respond, Bruce covered the base for him. “For lying to you, I deserve it harder, don’t I? Faster, too.”

With a disbelieving grin, Jim shook his head. “I should have known. The loyalty to Gotham, the honesty… All that raw energy.”

“It was all I ever felt in my father’s wake,” Bruce admitted. “Energy I poured into hating.”

“You’re better than him,” Gordon said. A second later, he smirked. “Young, hot, __and__  loyal.”

Bruce laughed. “I try my best.”

He was on his knees a moment later, riding the other into the later hours of night. It was not gentle nor sweet anymore, but something about the pressure building in his groin made him say just what he thought about it all. “I’ve never had this much fun,” he breathed into the night.

“It’s the alcohol talking,” Gordon said, pink in the face and head turned toward the wall beside them.

“ _ _Fuck__ ,” Bruce replied succinctly, fingers digging into Gordon’s shoulders.

“I don’t know about you,” Jim breathed, “but I needed a good lay with all the drama I’ve been faced with.”

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce said with a chuckle. Cotton seemed to swirl dizzyingly around them, engulfing them in both in the sensations of sheets and skin. Veering off course, Bruce reached around the other man’s shoulders and gripped tightly at the skin of his back, facing him with a question: “Do you need me?”

Gordon’s eyes were blown and enticingly dark brown. “God, yes.”

It was hard and with notable soreness that Bruce came for the last time that night, letting out a sound that was halfway a curse and halfway the other’s name.

“ _ _Fuck__ ,” Gordon cursed, letting himself go inside him.

Both of their chests heaved in the aftermath, and for a while, the only sound between them was the sound of their mingling panting breaths.

“Jim,” Bruce said at length, partway out of consciousness.

Presently, Jim detached himself, running his hands drunkenly, clumsily over Bruce’s hips. His fingers flitted across the hair curling against his lower abdomen, then up across his stomach. With a weary groan, he rolled over onto his back. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Love you.”

“I think you’re too drunk.”

“I don’t think so,” Bruce said, already dozing off.

Jim chuckled to himself. It wasn’t long before he was out like a light as well, sleeping away the last of the alcohol and the nighttime alike.

//

When they came to, it was only because the alarm clock was going off on Bruce’s bedside table.

Jim groaned and sat up to rub his eyes. He had a dense, throbbing headache now, and his whole body seemed to follow suit in terms of soreness. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself, when the memory of last night floated back into his still-hazy mind.

Beside him, Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck and trying hard not to make eye contact. “Yeah. Um,” he said, not really sure what to say.

They sat in painfully awkward silence for a long time, until, finally, Bruce spoke out of a pressing feeling of necessity. “It’s fine, you know. I mean, I’m still okay with it.”

“Don’t say that,” Jim said with a nervous chuckle. “I just went and did what I wanted without thinking of the consequences.”

Bruce licked his lips. “You told me you’d wanted to for…a while.”

Jim sighed and lifted a hand to his forehead. “Honestly,” he started, somewhat ashamed, “I’ve wanted this for so terribly long. You were young and beautiful and __you__ , and I’ve wanted you ever since.”

“Since when?” Bruce asked, lifting his brows.

Jim cleared his throat, going pink in the face. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but you were nineteen, I believe.”

Bruce had to bite back a snarky smile. “Yeah? Way to wait it out, commissioner.”

The pink in Jim’s cheeks darkened. “Hey, now. Not funny.”

They didn’t move for a long time. Carefully, extending the olive branch, Bruce said the words that weighed on his tongue, for better or for worse. “You know, I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this again.”

Gordon screwed his eyes closed. “Bruce, this wasn’t supposed to be an every night kind of thing.” The way his eyes still lingered on Bruce’s bare chest gave him all the incentive he needed, though.

“How about you take me now, and ask questions later,” Bruce said, affixing the other with his award-winning grin.

“Am I gonna regret this?” Jim mumbled, not really to get an answer.

“I want it just as much as you do,” Bruce said.

“Don’t,” Gordon warned, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with guilt.

“No,” he kept on, looking up at him with clouded blue eyes. “I mean it.”

Jim chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second. “Well I, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, only halfway meaning it. “I’ve wanted you like this for a long time, too. The flesh only lets one think so far.”

“I __do__ want to,” Jim said after a moment of deliberation with himself.

“Yeah?” Bruce pressed, eyes narrowed challengingly. “Then show me.”

Jim was not one to back away from a challenge like that.

Being sober (albeit hungover) had its benefits; for one, Gordon had a tight and sure grip on his hips, canting them up in way that made everything seem to move a hundred times better. In fact, Bruce had barely started to grit his teeth when Gordon hit a spot inside of him that made him cry out. “God, shit, __please__ , he heaved, breaths coming and going in shallow huffs. “That’s it, fuck me like you mean it,” he finished, lifting himself with Gordon’s shoulders.

This wasn’t a drunken, hazy mistake, and yet it sent fire through his veins just like it had before, made better, even, by the serious way Jim looked at him as he moved, pulling him in with every thrust and bending over until they were nearly face to face.

“I don’t know why we didn’t do this before,” Bruce admitted.

“Welcome to my world,” Gordon said with a low chuckle.

Bruce laughed in response, reeling against the pressure of being filled and touched, hot and taken. “I’m glad to hear it.”

In the absence of words, Gordon reached down and latched his mouth onto Bruce’s collar bone.

Bruce tossed his head back onto the pillow and groaned, guttural and wanting. “ _ _Yes__ ,” he encouraged, threading his fingers in Gordon’s hair again.

This time, with sunny rays beaming upon them and the weary aches of a hangover, Jim came first, bearing down hard on his bottom lip. Bruce, by no means a master of control in this sense, followed soon after, messing up what had already been messed before and alerting them both to the fact that they desperately needed to shower.

“God,” Jim murmured, too spent to say anything else.

“Letting your age catch up to you?” Bruce teased, smiling winningly.

“Very funny,” Jim replied, panting into the space between their lips. “You’re not that much younger than I am.”

“Just about ten years,” Bruce said with a laugh.

Gordon scowled good-naturedly. “Shut up,” he replied.

Bruce smiled. “I love you, too.”

Still inside him, Jim lowered his body down to cover Bruce’s, forearms bracing himself and mouth curling up at the corners as it neared the other man’s. “It’s a little different, hearing you say that, sober.”

“Is that bad?” Bruce teased, making a face like he was deep in thought about it. “Because, I mean, we can always just do this drunk—”

“No, no. I’m…I’m too old to be doing that every night,” Jim said with a snort.

Bruce reached up gingerly and curled his fingers around the back of Gordon’s neck to pull him closer. “The drinking or the sex?” he joked, chuckling when Jim rolled his eyes.

“The first one,” he answered, managing a smirk past his pulsing headache. “I think I can handle the second one just fine.”

“ _ _Fine__  is an understatement,” Bruce said, then immediately regretted it.

Jim smiled at him. “Don’t go buttering me up, now, Bruce.”

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he responded, wiping a hand down his face and then peering up at the other through the space between his fingers. “Breakfast?”

“Shower, first,” Jim answered pleasantly, “then breakfast.”


End file.
